This Not So Perfect UniverseChapter One
by Marley Walker
Summary: Chapter OneFour years ago…It happened quickly. The drunk driver in a semi speeding down I79 crashed into our little Caviler, folding it like an accordion. His neck snapped on impact and he died instantly, before the pain of severed legs bored into his m


Chapter One

Four years ago… 

It happened quickly. The drunk driver in a semi speeding down I-79 crashed into our little Caviler, folding it like an accordion. His neck snapped on impact and he died instantly, before the pain of severed legs bored into his mind forever…

My father was on his way home form picking up a pair of diamond earrings for my mother on their 20th anniversary when he was killed. I was fourteen and my brother, Jack, was seventeen.

My mother took to being a widow at the age of forty-six very well. Locking herself into her room, along with any other feelings. She took to making driftwood pins found from the Great Lakes, our backyard. It was a hobby brought into our home as a way to mask the pain that stirred in the back of her mind, the internal pain that would always linger and never die. Her one-year leave from the law firm ended up being permanent.

My brother, Jack, took to it just as well. The golden son, star quarter back of his senior team, snapped when he was told his father was dead. He emancipated himself, dropped out of school, and lost his job. Not to mention the fact that he became a drug addict, lived in his car for a number of months, and went to jail three times. Jack was a perfect teen, Valedictorian of Chester Lock High until the accident.

And this is where I come in, Marley Walker, who became an adult at the age of fourteen. My job was to keep the family together, yet I failed. It felt as if the weight of the world was thrown on my shoulders in a swift movement. Failing classes, going without, and the worry of if we would get though the next day hovered over my head. I didn't know much at the time, but one thing was for sure, I wasn't going to let devastation destroy me as it had my mother and my brother.

Jobs were short to find in our little town. With the help from a family friend, I was hired at the local Shop N' Go. It was just enough to pay for food. While my mother's bereavement check was helping with the bills that our little beach house on the north shores of Golden Haven, Michigan accumulated. When that was gone I had to find a different way to earn money, to pay for the bills _and _put food on the table.

I barely passed ninth grade, and tried to have a normal life, if that was even possible. If I had to name the one person that helped me the most through this hard time it would have to be my best friend Nicky Westport.

Nick and I met in a Kindergarten art class. We were best friends instantly. She told me that she liked my cat, which looked like a pig with a bushy tail, and I told her that I liked her daisy, which turned out to be a Christmas tree. With her rebel attitude and my soft touch, we were the perfect pair of friends.

As soon as she heard news about my father's death, she helped in everyway possible. Coming over every night, making sure food was on our plates, and if not, forcing her mother to invite us over. God love Nicky, my savior.

This universe of which we lived was not that of a perfect one and we needed to find ways of passing its ever-difficult hurdles. It's been four years now after my father's accident and things have started to get back on track.

My mother still makes driftwood pins, but sells them on her spare time. She went back to work at the law firm. Allowing me time to be a kid, although it was a little late for that.

As for Jack, with some encouragement, we got him into rehab. He has a steady job, an apartment, and even a girlfriend. We managed to convince him to finish out his schooling and even is considering going to college.

And Nicky, she still makes it a habit of coming over after school every day, just not to care of my family, more so as what a best friends for.

Managing to pas high school with a 3.8 GPA, now I'm planning on going to Chicago and scoring a record deal. I've always had high hopes. By next August, though, I'll have a bus ticket to Chicago and be settled into an apartment there.

People used to ask me all the time how I was taking care of things; the usual reply was that I was fine. But in reality, I wasn't. I still had a lot of hurt from my mother for leaving me to fend for myself, my brother for destroying his life, and I'm ashamed to admit, my father for abandoning his family that so dearly loved him. Still, I lie, to make my family feel better about the situation. Like I always say, roll with the punches because this not so perfect universe will always be just that, not so perfect.

The New Beginning… 

"Hey Marley, sweetie, could you come here a second! I just need you to..."

"Hey Mrs. W!" Nicky said.

"God, Nicky! You scared me! Where's Marley?"

"She said something about having to call Lydia," Nicky replied.

My mother had a panicked look on her face.

"Oh, God. I'm going to be late!"

"Is there something I can do for you?" Nicky said.

"I need someone to zip my dress," my mother sounded desperate, "do you mind doing it for me?"

"I would be obliged," Nicky said. Right on cue! Always there to help.

Walking into the living room, I overheard this conversation, realizing how stressed my mother was about her boss's work party.

"Hey mom," I said, "you almost ready?"

"Yes, Sweetie. I just need to put my makeup on and we are out the door! Go start the car, okay?" She said, suddenly her stress was gone. A newer, faker person replaced her true personality.

"Sure mom," I said.

My mother's boss, Mr. Gardner, had planned a huge work party and everybody was invited. It was the first party planned at his house, and my mother wanted to impress him extra tonight, even though he was recently remarried.

"Thanks," my mom said. Her tone had changed and she was forcing a fake smile, "I'll be there in a minute."

As my mother exited the room, she casually adjusted the diamond earring in her right ear.

"Now, if there's cake, you better bring a piece back for me," said Nicky, "or you're butts mine! Oh, and try to have some fun. I know these things are boring, but hey, lighten up!"

"Fine," I said, "I will."

"What? Bring me a piece of cake or lighten up?" Nicky said sarcastically.

"Both," I said, "Now, I have to get going!"

"Up to it, young lady!" Nicky said.

Watching as my mother waltzed down the stairs to our house, I had already listened to five songs on the radio and the air condition was on full blast. Although the cold air blew throughout the car, my sea green silk dress was sticking to my body.

"Ready to have fun?" my mother asked, fake tone returning.

"Sure," I said.

"I honestly appreciate you coming to this little shindig," my mother said, pulling out of the driveway. We were already twenty minutes late.

"Mom, I hate to break it to you, but nobody ever says shindig. And I just decided to come. No reason."

"Well, you normally always protest that you don't want to go. Are you feeling okay?" she asked, jokingly feeling my forehead.

When we pulled up to his house I knew exactly what he was going to be like. His house was the every-house-on-this-block-looks-the-same-kind, you know, where they drive Mercedes Benz's and drink champagne for dinner. Not a good sign. Plus the door was painted a gaudy color purple.

After my latest boyfriend, now ex, I had promised Nicky that I wouldn't get involved with rich people of any kind. And I planned on sticking to my promise.

Of course because we were so late, we had to park a mile away from his house; just what I _needed_ to do in high heels. Before we went up to the house, my mother made a quick face check in the rear view mirror and applied anothercoat of lipstick.

Walking the long walk towards his house, weaving through expensive cars, I stared at my feet. I was careful not to step on any crack, escaping the chance of falling.

We climbed the steps to the house. Opening the door, my mother and I went our separate ways. Her, to chat with her friends, leaving me to mingle with the other unlucky kids made to go with their parents.

The house had to have what looked like French carved banisters in the antique style entryway, leading up to the top floor.

The floor was wooden. Not like our house, but oak. And there was a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. People were crowded in a room, where classical music was playing some Bach tune. High heels tapping on the floor, I walked into the ballroom. A waiter walked up to me and offered a glass of sparkling grape juice.

"Would you like to try the red grape or white?" he asked.

"Red's fine."

I had gotten used to this kind of treatment. The only good thing about work parties was the food. I headed to the open balcony, thinking I could get some peace and quite and enjoy the July sunset. On my way there I noticed a big ice sculptor of a swan. Next to it, a seven layer cake.

"_Note to self," _I thought,_ "Bring Nicky a piece of cake."_

The balcony was made of gray marble. It looked just like the ones in Cinderella or Snow White.

As I stepped onto the balcony, I noticed a figure in the dark corner. Something looked familiar about him, his features reminded me of someone. He was leaned against the wall behind a huge flowered planter. His expression was that of one that had been through some hard times lately, one I knew all too well. The thought of talking to him quickly passed my mind as I looked out over the railing.

As I leaned over the edge, millions of thoughts filled my already full brain. The colors in the sky went from purple to red to pink. It was breathe taking.

It wasn't but five minutes before the figure in the corner spoke.

"Nice view, isn't it?" a deep voice said.

I jumped. The thoughts flooding my brain had crowded my memory of the shadowy figure.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to frighten you.

"That's okay," I said.

When my heart finally slowed to a normal pace I replied, "Yeah, it's gorgeous, one of the best this summer. But I would have preferred if I were at my house. The homes on this block are all the same. So unoriginal."

"Well, I have to agree on that," he said with a laugh, "I hate it when houses are like that, takes the uniqueness right out of the whole idea of _your_ own home. I'm Ethan."

He extended a large hand.

I took it.

"Marley," I said, "Marley Walker."

"Inspiration just flows to me when I see a sunset," he said, "you see, I'm a photographer."

"Musician," I said, not knowing if he cared or not.

"So, who are you here with?" he asked me.

"My mother," I said, "Heather Walker. You?"

"Both my parents," he said.

Right then, of all times, my cell phone rung, drowning his words with Ushers "True Confessions."

I noticed that it was Jack. If Jack was calling me, then there must be something important. But you know, hey, he's a big boy he can fend for himself.

I tried to ignore it, left it to go to voice mail. But it rang again.

"Something's up with my brother," I said, "I'm sorry, Ethan, I got to go."

"That's fine," he said. But I couldn't hear him. I was already weaving my way through a sea of people.

As I walked to the car, Jack called one more time. I quickly answered.

"What is it?" I exclaimed.

"I cannot believe it, Marley! Tina broke it off with me!" Jack sounded angrier then I'd heard him in awhile.

"_That's _what you called me for! I was in the middle of a very important conversation!"

Now I was mad.

"Yes _that's_ what I called you for! Tina and I have been dating for over three years, Marley! You knew I was going to propose to her! How can you just think that that's nothing?"

"Jack, I didn't mean it that…"

He cut me off.

"No Marley, that's fine. Go back to your important conversation. I'll be fine. Sorry I even called you."

"Jack Don't…"

The line went dead.

Feeling guilty, I went back to the party.

"_Hopefully Ethan will still be there,"_ I thought. With hope in my heart I walked fast back to the front of the house.

Chilled to the bone, I went inside, weaved my way through the crowd once more,

and walked onto the balcony. It was disserted, no one to be found.

Drained of the happiness I felt moments ago, I went in search for my mother. I found her hanging out with Paullina, her friend since grade school.

She was a bit tipsy from one too many drinks, laughing at some unheard joke that slipped through my ears.

"Mom, I want to go home," I whined, pulling at her sleeve.

"What? We just got here! And we're having such a great time!" she argued.

"Correction, _you _are having a good time. _I'm_ not."

"Not now, Marley."

"Fine," I said, and started to walk out of the room.

I stepped out of the monstrous area and decided right then and there, that I would have control. Hell! I had control for over four years! Lets add one more to the pile. I waltzed out the door and onto the porch. Shoes in hand, I decided I would walk home.

The trees were gorgeous, in full bloom and bright green. They shielded the sides the road. Bright red begonias mostly consumed the grass. But the tuffs that were exposed were bright green from underground sprinkler systems, unlike the less fortunate people that had grass a bit brown from the scorching heat of summer. It was turning dark very fast and I was a bit uneasy about walking at night in an unfamiliar subdivision.

My eyes dodged glances on the trees; tricking my mind into thinking some unknown person loomed by. It wasn't long before an eerie feeling arose from the pit of my stomach. I glanced behind me. What startled me was a red Ford pickup slowing beside me. I walked faster. The windows were tinted so I couldn't see the driver. Slowly, they rolled down.

"Need a ride?"

"Um," I said, trying to see whom it was. It was Ethan, "sure, that would be helpful." I was a little uneasy. By my standards, he was still a stranger. And didn't our parents always tell us, _"Never get into a car with a stranger?"_

"Hop in," he said. I heard the car door lock click open.

I hurried to the side of the Ford and opened the door, flinging my shoes onto the floor.

"I really do appreciate this," I said.

"One thing though, why were you walking away without your mom?" Ethan asked.

"Well," I started, "I was just getting a little bored. I hate coming to these things. Just not the average teens idea of a good time."

"Can't argue with that," he said, "eating caviar and getting dressed to the nines is not my idea of a good time."

It wasn't long before I noticed that we weren't moving. Just sitting there in the quiet.

Ethan cleared his throat, "can you tell me where I'm going?"

I blushed, "Home would be nice."

"Like I said, I don't know where your home is," he said.

My face was hot.

"Take a left up here," I said, trying this time not to sound so stupid.

He laughed, "Now we're getting someplace."

Ethan fiddled with the radio dial. Finally coming to a station that fit his pleasure.

"Right, right here," I said, "the rest of the way is straight, to Whitecotton Road."

Five minutes later, we reached my road. Although it was dark, I could see the Great Lakes beauty.

"Not too many people live up here," I stated.

"I could tell that," he said, looking out the window of the Ford.

There were only three houses other than mine on Whitecotton.

Mrs. Cuttler lived about a quarter of a mile from my little beach house. Her husband died years back. Had a heart attack in the living room, reading the paper. Every now and then she'll break into a spell and talk to him.

When I was little around Christmas time, she would come up and bring us a homemade sweet potato pie. Dear sweet old lady.

Then there was the Frengers. They had a family of six kids, all between the ages of seven and seventeen. They came from Canada, about five years back. Got the fortune of meeting my father.

And finally there was Nicky. Her parents were divorced. Her father moved to Florida. Working some place in Universal Studios running a rollercoaster ride. Her mother stayed in Michigan working as an interior designer. Always redoing her own house more than anybody else's.

"Now, which of the four houses on this block is your humble abode?" he asked.

"The one at the very bottom of the road," I said, embarrassed because I didn't live in a fancy neighborhood.

But my road was the best of the best. It's what the tourists came to see in the summer. Sandy dunes covered the environment. Little grass spurts brown from the July heat were scattered everywhere.

My little blue beach house, worn paint on the shutters, rap around porch, and three steps leading to the door, rested on Lake Michigan. It was the perfect beach house. But then there were it's own problems that the outside didn't cover for.

In the winter it was always cold, the roof leaked sometimes when terrible summer storms hit, and one Forth of July, Jack fell through the deck on the backside of the house due to termites.

"Your house is very original," Ethan spoke, breaking the silence, other than the beat of some punk band on the radio.

"Yeah, but it has its days," I said.

He pulled the red Ford into my gravel driveway.

"Well, this is my stop," I said, opening the car door, "maybe I'll see you at the next party your parents go to."

"Most likely," he said, "you take care now."

"You too. Oh, and, um, Ethan, thanks for the ride," I said climbing out of the Ford.

"Anytime," he said.

Ethan pulled out of the driveway, waved, and sped out of sight in an instant.

Climbing the stairs to my door, I fumbled with the keys to the house. Then I remembered.

"Dam it! I forgot Nicky's cake! Oh well she'll just have to deal with it."

I walked into my living room, newly polished by one of my mothers cleaning frenzies. Hands on my hips, I peered out the big window at the water that the moon shone so brightly over. The waves from a new summer shower still lingered in the mist of the crystal blue waters.

I walked down the long corridor to my room at the end of the hall. My door was shut. The sign that read Marley Elizabeth Walker carved from wood by my grandfather, painted and hand crafted still hung, welcoming me to a place that brought a little comfort to my life, a little peace, a little tranquility.

I gradually opened my door, as if an alarm would sound. I walked into my beloved blue room, blue as the grand ocean at dusk itself. My bed to the right facing my closet filled to the ceiling with outgrown clothes and shoes with scuffs, crammed together with my Juniper Jeans and Hollywood Strip shirts.

And there laid my precious, next to my dark chestnut desk toppled with late homework assignments, old photos, and lost phone numbers. Next to my over flown garbage can and my fat Maincoon cat Muumuu lazily sleeping on my windowsill.

My guitar. The acoustic that my father once played. It lay soundlessly sleeping in its handmade case, bought by Jack on my twelfth birthday.

I quickly changed into a pair of sleep pants and a tank top that definitely fit the muggy summer air. I swung my guitar case over my shoulder and picked the songbook up off my nightstand that was loaded down with hair spray, my alarm clock, and forgotten change.

I walked out of my room, quietly shutting my door, not making a peep, taking the step that lead to the living room and set my equipment onto the white couch.

My bare feet stuck to the cool wooden floor. I opened the sliding doors that lead to our top deck, allowing the fresh aroma of the water to flood the room, a warm summer air burst. The latch on my guitar case clicked as I opened it and flipped to a new page in my songbook, taking the pencil from its spiral.

I strummed a few cords of my guitar. And then, as if magic took a toll, my hands played a tune that no ears had heard before. And I softly sang:

"_A shadow in the corner,_

_A star in the sky._

_The coldness in your heart_

_A passion that's run dry._

_The strength of one,_

_Quickly gone away._

_It's just a shadow in the corner,_

_A star in the sky…"_


End file.
